


In black ink my love may still shine bright

by icemakestars



Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sexual Tension, rick is a poet, vyvyan is the muse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-14 00:25:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5722687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icemakestars/pseuds/icemakestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick always found it pretentious that Shakespeare wrote over one hundred sonnets about a man he loved... until he met Vyvyan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In black ink my love may still shine bright

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse the Shakespeare quote as the title. I could not help myself.
> 
> Also, please excuse the poem. Again, I am a weak individual.
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr @ice-bringer (main) or @punksnotdead-onlysleeping (personal)

Rick loved poetry. Whether it was his own creation or something he had found in a book, he was always willing to stand up and perform a verse for whoever may listen (or _not listen_ , as his flatmates had frequently proved). Even when he and Vyvyan had begun dating, he used to bring Keats to the breakfast table and Wilmott in between their bedsheets. Vyvyan found it irritating as hell, but what vexed him even more was when it all stopped.

The annoying quotes from famous poets never ceased, but anything that was Rick's own began to be kept a secret, everything bound in a thin, red book, which Rick kept hidden in his bedroom. Even he was denied access to the work, and the more Rick hid it the more Vyvyan wanted to see it. The only thing he hated more than poetry was _Rick's_  poetry, but the thought that his boyfriend was deliberately keeping something from out of his reach... Vyvyan couldn't help it; it got to him.

He tried for months to sneak a peak into that formidable book, just to ease his own suspicions as to what may be written there. He had considered so many variations- embarrassing fetishes, letters to Vyvyan's mother, a love confession to another member of their household, or even worse, to his sociology professor- but none of Vyvyan's theories seemed to fit the pink tint and graceless stammer that Rick greeted him with whenever Vyvyan inquired about the poems.

It left him at a loss. He roamed the house aimlessly, pacing and swearing until Michael hit him over the head with his newspaper. Vyvyan turned away and ignored him, his worn Doc Martens pounded the worn stairs as he took them two at a time. When he was on the landing, he listened. The water for the bath was running, and Vyvyan knew that Neil was out at a lecture, leaving only the three of them in the house. If Rick was the only one upstairs, that meant he was no longer in his bedroom...

Vyvyan didn't even hesitate. Stealth was a foreign concept to his loud boots and clanking chains, but still he walked as slowly and silently as he could manage until he was standing outside Rick's door. Having snook into the bedroom so many times, Vyvyan knew which floorboard was especially temperamental, and the right angle to hold the door to ensure that it didn't make a sound when it opened. Even so, as Vyvyan slid the cracked wood open, he glanced apprehensively over his shoulder, expecting to hear Rick's shrill voice reprimanding him. When no sound came from the bathroom, Vyvyan swore in relief. He stepped into the room, cautiously planning each step so that nothing would disturb Rick in the bath. On another occasion, Vyvyan would have thrown all of his clothes off on the landing and stormed his way into the bathroom for a particularly good shag, but now his brain was far too obsessed with little red books and poetry to think of much else.

Besides the average mess which Vyvyan had become accustomed (and contributed) to, there was nothing which seemed out of place. He was tempted to just trash the room until he found the book, but he knew that Rick would hear him and intervene. With a frustrated growl, Vyvyan threw Rick's pillow against the far wall, where it landed with a billowy 'oompf'. He turned to face the empty mattress, when he noticed a chunk of paper lodged between the end of the bed- where Rick's head should be- and the wall. Curiously, Vyvyan plucked the paper from its hiding spot and unearthed a small red book, one that made Vyvyan's heart instantly race.

Trepidation trembled in Vyvyan's fingers as he cautiously opened the book and read the first entry:

_Oh Vyvyan,_

_You've torn my heart into oblivion_

_Even when I'm on the loo,_

_All I think about is you_

_I have so many needs!_

_More than Neil's seeds_

_Oh Vyvan,_

_What should I do?_

_You've torn my heart in two!_

_Oh Vyvyan, Vyvyan, Vyvyan..._

It was awful. Worse than that, maybe, and Vyvyan trailed his fingers over the messy, crossed-out scrawl. He could imagine Rick writing this, sat crossed-legged on his bed with his tongue peeking curiously through thin, chapped lips, one hand working furiously to write and the other steadying the wobbling paper. It was an endearing image, and Vyvyan's chest clenched at the thought.

“Bloody poof.” An automatic exclamation of Vyvyan's that was nothing but a soft whisper, and held none of its usual malice.

He flicked through the booklet, astonished not only how every single poem was about him, but also at how Rick had found so many words that rhymed with his name. Poems, sonnets, ballads, even short descriptions of him written entirely in prose; there was so much effort and passion scribbled onto these pages that Vyvyan could not read any more. He slammed the booklet shut and threw it back into its rightful place and replacing the pillow hurriedly, leaving Rick's room before he discovered any more... surprises.

Vyvyan stood with his back pressed against the wall, palms splayed flat over the concrete and breathing heavily. Out of all of the things which had raced through his mind, all of the theories and notions and terrors, it was all about him. Rick was so enamoured with him that he had written hundreds of fucking _poems_  about it. Vyvyan placed a palm over his mouth and groaned into it, his face heating up with both embarrassment and shame. He realised now why Rick did not want him to see, but he had still doubted his boyfriend's integrity. For that, he felt guilty.

He knew that he would have to apologise one day for both going behind Rick's back and not trusting him in the first place, but after everything he had just read- no matter how awful it may have been written- Vyvyan did not feel ready. He would need to get Rick alone and calm before they talked this over, which would no doubt be a feat within itself.

As if on command, Rick came padding out of the bathroom with one towel drying his hair and another falling from his hips. Upon seeing Vyvyan, Rick stopped and gawked. “You okay there, Vyvyan?”

Water dripped down Rick's pale chest, and his hair was a delicious brown nest of knotted curls that licked down his neck. Instantly, Vyvyan felt even hotter.“Piss off, twat!” Vyvyan growled, turning away from Rick before his trousers tightened further.

He continued marching down the corridor until he reached his room, Rick's body haunting his mind and Rick's words engraved firmly on his heart.

 


End file.
